Edmund Clarence Stedman, ed. (1833–1908). An American Anthology, 1787–1900. 1900.
By WilliamLindsey1336 En Garde, Messieurs
E
Too long with patience borne the world’s rebuff;
Now he who shoulders me shall find me rough;
The weakness of an easy soul is cured.
Were won by others, turned to aid my friend;—
Dull-pated ever,—but such follies end;
Only a fool’s content, and in the cold.
Waves in the wind, light as my lady’s fan;
Only my sword is bright; with it I plan
To win success, or put my sword to nurse.
Henceforth my stroke is first, I give offense;
I claim no more an over-dainty sense,
I brook no blocking where I plan to go.
Remember I ’ve been buffeted at will;
I am a whit impatient, and ’t is ill
To cross a hungry dog, Messieurs, en garde.